I'm on the train, going from Agra to Jaipur. It's the end of our first full day in India, and already we have a wealth of experiences and stories. Chandler, of course, is overwhelmed and amazed. I worried about her for much of the day - she was so quiet. I was afraid she hated everything about this crazy, chaotic, often annoying country and was wishing she had never come. I was afraid I had made a mistake in bringing her.

Later in the day, however, sitting in a cooled restaurant after visiting the Taj Mahal, she began to perk up and become talkative again. She had been tired and thirsty under the hot sun at the Taj - and stupidly, we had forgotten to buy water before going inside. She was, like every visitor upon their first day in India, simply overwhelmed. I remember the feeling well from the year before; you can describe the experience of India to someone, but it's impossible to understand it until you are actually in the midst of it. It's like describing a painting to a blind person. The noise, the garbage and slums and buildings falling apart into the street, the cows and mangy dogs and monkeys roaming everywhere. The constant staring, the beggars, the taxi drivers, the smells, the constant hassles. Everything is harder than it should be here and takes ten times as long.

But all of this is balanced in equal measure with places of beauty, majesty and historic splendor, and the absolute warmth and friendliness of virtually everyone you come across. The very exotic nature of India is half of its draw, despite the sometimes incredible hassle that being a foreigner brings. After visiting this place, I will never think of anywhere in a place like Europe as foreign. the word is defined by a place like India - as completely remote and different from home as a place could possibly be. India grabs hold of you and doesn't let you go.

Surprisingly, we had arrived in Delhi with a minimum of hassle, although late. While the immigration queue was long, we were through it in less than 20 minutes and on to collect our luggage and meet Ravi, who works for Manjeet and was there to take us to Manjeet's apartment, where we would stay for the night.

This morning, our first full day in India started off with an adventure. I should have known Chandler would not get the benefit of a calm introduction, especially in Delhi. Ravi insisted on making us a breakfast of toast, bananas and chai - and afterwards he confessed that it was the first time he had ever prepared a meal! We ate leisurely, sharing information with each other about our lives and work and families. Ravi is one of Manjeet's accountants and lives with his younger brother nearby. Suddenly he jumped up - we must leave for the train! We grabbed our bags and hurried out the door, only to find the elevator wasn't working. We finally made it downstairs to the motorized rickshaw waiting for us, where four men struggled and conversed violently over how to fit the three of us and our luggage into the tiny vehicle. Somehow it was managed, and we were off - only to encounter multiple traffic jams, the bane of Delhi. I tried not to glance at my watch in concern. Our train left at 9:50. We finally pulled into the station at 9:47. Ravi instantly recruited a man who pulled our suitcases from the tuk-tuk and balanced them on top of his head, and then took off. "Run!" Ravi cried. The four of us ran, up a flight of stairs, across the platform and then down another, while everyone stopped to stare.

We reached the train just as it was starting to pull away, jumping on as it was slowly moving. Of course, this meant we were at the back of the train, and nowhere near our 2nd class compartment. In fact, we were in the "cattle car" section - the only westerners, and the only females. A packed car of men stared openly at us. I barely noticed, having become fairly inured to this on my last trip, but of course it was very disconcerting to Chandler. Hauling our bags clumsily, creating even more of a spectacle, we made our way through the sea of one car, then the next, until we found ours. It was full of nicely-dressed middle class Indian families, and of course our assigned seats were taken. A nice family made room for us, inviting us to sit with them and even offering to share their blankets and food with us. The wife told us, "You are visitors to our country, and we must take care of you." Chandler promptly curled up and went to sleep - she can sleep anywhere! By the time we arrived in Agra, I had learned that the middle-aged couple had a son in I.T. in Los Angeles and an architect daughter, and that they were on their way to their second home in Goa.

When the train arrived in Agra, we were immediately besieged with taxi drivers, souvenir hawkers and beggars the moment we set foot on the platform. I sized up one driver and asked him where the luggage check was. Ignoring all the others with a firm shake of my head, we left our luggage (which I hoped would still be there upon our return!) and followed the driver to his car, where the haggling began. He would take us to the Taj Mahal, shopping, to a restaurant, and back for 450 rupees, about $10. It's a ridiculous sum and I shook my head in disbelief. He pulled out a hand-written rate card and pointed to it, as if that made it official.

"We don't want a guide," I told him. "I've been here before - and we don't want to go shopping." He began dropping the price, and I told him that a rickshaw driver would take us for 40. We finally settled on 150 and took off. In the car, he proudly said, "I have many American friends" and then proceeded to turn around in his seat to show us a guestbook in which previous customers had signed their names and nationality. He flipped to the page with tourists from the USA, pointing proudly while dogs and small children leaped out of the zooming vehicle's way.

At the Taj, the queue through security was long and hot. When we were finally inside the gates, Chandler seemed under-awed. She hadn't said much all day. She agreed that it was beautiful, and she was glad to be there - but she was hot, tired and thirsty. Welcome to India, I thought - this is the constant state of being. I took a few pictures of the monument before the camera battery died. As we climbed the steps to go inside the tomb, a group of teenage Middle Eastern boys asked me to take their picture, then asked Chandler to be in the photo with them. One by one, they stood next to her, their blond American souvenir, as I snapped away.

After removing our shoes we entered the cool inside of the Taj Mahal, final resting place of Shah Jahan and his wife, Mumtaz, admiring the intricate inlaid jewels and carvings that cover the pristine white tomb. The Taj Mahal is truly as spectacular as one thinks. It does not disappoint - it is even better in person that expected.

We walked around to the back side, which overlooks a river, and sat in the shade for a few moments to rest and admire the view. Almost immediately, an Indian man brought his baby over and, without saying a word, unceremoniously plopped it down into Chandler's lap. "Photo?" he then asked. He and other members of his family snapped away at the two white chicks holding their baby. Then, cameras away, they proceeded to talk for many minutes while Chandler and I sat there holding their baby. Finally the mother came over and whisked him away.

Chandler and I had to laugh at the notion that, here we were sitting at one of the most visited, incredible, awe-amazing sights in the world - one of the modern Wonders of the World - and WE are as much of the tourist attraction. This was reiterated when we left the Taj and took a bicycle rickshaw back to our driver, who was waiting in the car park, while a man ran along behind us shouting, "I love you!"

Finally we are at the restaurant, post-Taj Mahal, where Chandler is revitalizing with cool air, water and food after her first culture-shock introduction to India. The day's adventures aren't over, though. Back at the train station - always adventures unto themselves! - we are almost surprised to find our bags exactly where we left them and untouched. Waiting for the train, the first child beggars approach Chandler, something she finds very difficult although I had warned her about it. These kids aren't pitiful, though - well dressed and very healthy looking, they play happily along the platform with a dog until a Westerner appears. Then, their mother yells something at them and they suddenly become droopy-eyed beggar children approaching the tourists with large, sad brown eyes.

Then, Chandler sees her first wild monkey. It leaps down from above, snatches a bag of fruit right out of a man's hands, and scampers up onto the roof of the platform where it sits calmly eating.

On the train, we meet a German couple, backpacking through India, and they're staying at the same family-run inn that we are. The ride to Jaipur is uneventful until we arrive. Our seatmate tells us Jaipur is the next station and so we disembark there - where we immediately discover that Jaipur actually has TWO stations, and the second one is the larger, main one where the driver from the inn we are staying at will be meeting us. No worries - we simply hail a motorized rickshaw to drive us to the other station, as a group of other drivers congratulate our driver and shake our hands. We meet up with our hotel representative as planned, and the German girl is also there - but not her boyfriend. She says that he got off at the wrong station, where we did - but he is nowhere to be found. The next morning we learn from Mr. Singh at our inn that he was killed. Apparently when he realized that he was at the wrong station and that his girlfriend didn't get off the train there, he tried to jump back on. His heavy backpack weighed him down, though, and he fell and was pulled under the train. It is very sad and tragic; I can't help thinking about the girlfriend left behind.